


1593 CE

by 7thweasley



Series: Ineffable Husbands Through Time [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, little angst, what do you mean Aziraphale didn’t sleep with Shakespeare?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7thweasley/pseuds/7thweasley
Summary: Wherever did Shakespeare find inspiration for Romeo & Juliet?





	1593 CE

_“I need to tell you something.”_

_Crowley needn’t announce himself to the angel anymore. The latter could positively feel the air change when he was near. Five and a half thousand years of knowing each other tended to do that._

_“Sit and join me, my dear. Can I get you a drink?”_

_The pair were settled into the two plush armchairs that were squeezed into Aziraphale’s small boarding room (how the chairs ever got there would be a mystery to any normal person). Crowley nodded, wearing a face that looked as if he was slowly choking on his own tongue._

_With a wave of his hand, two wine glasses appeared. The demon drained his quickly, then with another wave it was refilled._

_He drank some more. “Got anything stronger?”_

_“Crowley, settle down and come out with it. What ever is the matter?”_

_“Oh, Go– Sa– oh fuck, this is a mistake.” Crowley rose as if to leave, but a glance at Aziraphale made him stay. He paced instead._

_“I don’t know how to say this.”_

_“Are you alright? Did They find out about our Arrangement? Are you being relocated? What is it?”_

_Crowley rested his forehead on the wall, not looking at the angel. “I have to say something. Keeping it bottled will drive me crazy, if I’m not already.”_

_“It’s all right. Go on.” Aziraphale was torn; should he get up and comfort his adversary or was he shying away from him purposefully._

_Crowley sighed deeply, and stayed quiet for a moment._

_“Ihavefeelingsforyou,” he blurted out in one breath._

_“Come again?”_

_The demon cleared his throat and reconsidered how he wanted to say this. “Aziraphale, we have known each other for millennia, now. I don’t know if something is wrong with me, maybe I Fell incorrectly, or if I’ve been around these bloody humans too long. Demons aren’t supposed to feel in ways that I do.”_

_“What are you saying, Crowley?”_

_“Are we friends? Do you consider me a friend?”_

_“Well,” Aziraphale hesitated. “Perhaps… acquaintances surely…”_

_He cut himself off when he saw Crowley’s face fall. “Actually, yes, we are friends. You are my friend.”_

_“I think of you as my friend, but demons cannot have friends. And to think that I feel more inclined –“_

_Aziraphale had a sudden realization. “Spit it out, you silly serpent.”_

_“I think I love you.”_

_The silence between the two of them was positively potent. Crowley had returned to pressing his head against the wall. He almost wasn’t breathing in anticipation._

_“Crowley,” the angel whispered gently. “We can’t– you can’t–“_

_Crowley’s shoulders slumped. “You know what, never mind. Forget I said anything–“_

_“Let me finish. Even if I feel similarly, nothing can happen between the two of us, you know that. We are an angel and a demon. It doesn’t get anymore fundamental than that–“_

_“What do you mean, even if you feel similarly?”_

_“I won’t deny that I have developed an admiration for you–“_

_Crowley whirled around and stared Aziraphale down, yellow eyes bared._

_“You’re a coward. You return my feelings but won’t do anything about it. How dare you patronize me?”_

_“Crowley–“_

_The demon slammed the door behind him, causing a vase to knock over and smash. Aziraphale was left alone in his tiny room, feeling more alone than he was when Crowley first appeared._

—

**1593**

It had been fifty years since Crowley walked out of that room, since Aziraphale saw him last. The angel was roving from bed to bed and drink to drink, beating himself up in shame each time.

Crowley was right; he was a coward. He gave love and affection to humans, but couldn’t bring himself to give it to whom he wanted the most. Instead he fed himself with superficial relationships.

One such bed he hopped into was that of a rather favorable poet and playwright. His name was William, but the angel couldn’t remember his last name. He realized that he was drunkenly ranting to William about an event that happened 50 years ago. The playwright didn’t seem to mind; he was nodding along and listening intently.

It wasn’t until a couple years later that Aziraphale saw a play that was heavily familiar…

FIN


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